


Pyramid Is Serious Business

by oxymoronassoc



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoronassoc/pseuds/oxymoronassoc
Summary: set pre-mini; Kara and Helo watch and bro out over PyramidOriginally written 3-8-2006





	Pyramid Is Serious Business

They agree to meet at his place, 1300 hours. Kara brings the beer. 

He'd suggested watching at her place, but she'd told him she didn't own a TV. What she didn't tell him is she doesn't bring anyone home. It's her private space to be Kara and no one is going to ruin that. In all their years of friendship, Karl's never been to her place. He doesn't ask why.

His place is nicer than Kara's, a modest apartment in a decent complex. He probably pays the rent on time, she reflects, slamming the door to the HumVee. She's parked crooked and taking up two spots, but she doesn't care. That's the perk of driving that gas-guzzling beast: people stay the frack away. Kara's never paused to consider that even if she were driving a mini-van or a sports car, people would still stay away, terrified of the reckless élan with which she handles any vehicle. 

The pyramid playoffs don't start until 1500, but Kara's always been one for pre-partying. She makes a mental note that Karl has a pool. Kara can't remember the last time she went swimming. 

"Karl, you fracker, open the door!" She bangs her knee into the cheerfully red wood, arms laden with chips and more beer than anyone should attempt to drink in one sitting. 

"Did you bring the avocados?" he asks, opening the door and letting her inside.

She swears some more, dumping the food onto his cluttered kitchen counter. "No, you were supposed to get them!"

"I left you a message."

"Oh." Kara looks over at the collection of photographs, tacky magnets, and flyers on his fridge.

"Did they turn your phone off again?"

"They might've." She's in his fridge now, pulling out two cold beers that she uncaps efficiently on the counter. Karl winces at the dents they probably put into the Formica. "Want a beer?"

His mouth opens and shuts a few times before he takes the outthrust bottle. "Yeah, yeah I do."

Three beers and a half a blender of margarita mix later and Kara convinces him to go swimming before the game starts. He points out she doesn't have a suit and she grins impishly, saying she'll go nude. Karl isn't sure his neighbours would appreciate that and Kara compromises to wearing her bra and underwear. 

She's damp and smells strongly of chlorine as they sit crammed together on his tiny loveseat, a six pack of beer on the floor between them, chips and dip resting precariously on their thighs. Pyramid is a serious game and Kara hollers and throws chips at his television in protest to bad calls. 

They finish off the beer before halftime and Kara is puttering about in his tiny kitchen. He can hear her muttering about rum, but he's already tipsy and figures whatever she cooks up will only improve the game. His team is losing miserably.

Kara prances across his beige carpet, the drinks in her hands sloshing precariously and he hopes she didn't get any on the rug. "Poor baby," she tells him with a mocking smirk. They aren't rooting for the same team.

"If you got this on the rug, you have to lick it up." He takes a swallow and the alcohol burns down his throat.

"Ew. Don't be such a poor sport. It's only a game." Her tone is mocking and she doges the magazine he throws at her. "Frack you."

"No thanks. You're too short."

"Ouch. At least I can fit into a Viper cockpit."

He throws another magazine as she cackles.

By 1900 they're plastered and Kara insists they order pizza to celebrate her win. The numbers on the take-out menu swirl before his eyes and he has to dial three times before he gets the number right. 

"Extra cheese!" She reminds him, cracking open two more beers.

"I hope you have some cash," she says thirty minutes later as the acne-faced delivery boy gawks at her breasts through her tight tee-shirt. Kara tips him too much and sends him off with a wink.

Karl sighs and gets another drink.

At 2100, Kara declares she's too drunk to drive and demands they watch a movie, her choice. She scrolls through his digital service with the glee of a kid in a candy store. After a long and loud process of soliciting his opinion and then ignoring it, she settles on a horror movie and an action film.

"Don't you get tired of watching stuff blow up?" he asks as they settle in, the only light from the hood over the stove in the kitchen and the flicker of the TV.

Her breath catches for a moment. "It's not real. It's pretend."

Karl thinks she'd like to live her whole life in pretend if she could.

When Kara wakes up the next morning, her head is pounding. She wipes the drool off her face, frowning at the damp spot she's left on Karl's tee-shirt. She hopes he doesn't notice. Her legs are stiff, especially that damn bum knee, and she almost collapses when she stands up from the loveseat they passed out on. Grimacing, she hops to the bathroom where she stares at her appearance in awe. Her short hair is sticking up at strange angles and when Kara braces her hand to her chin to pop her neck, she notices a red-purple mark on her throat.

"What the—" She glances at the closed door to the bathroom before rising on tiptoe to better inspect her neck in the mirror. "Huh," she says finally.

Kara decides that since she can't remember what happened, nothing actually happened. Besides, she woke up with her pants on. Her bra and underwear are still damp where they hang over the shower curtain rail, but she puts them on anyway. 

Karl is still asleep, snoring now, sprawled awkwardly over one arm of the loveseat. She shakes her head before picking up her keys with a soft jingle from the counter. A short stop at the fridge and she drinks his orange juice direct from the carton before finding her shoes at the door. A glance back and he's still asleep when she leaves, squinting at the bright morning light.


End file.
